


Wing Flirtation

by pt_tucker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Prompt Generator, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pt_tucker/pseuds/pt_tucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has a flower stuck in his feathers. Mrs. Hudson is very thorough in getting it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wing Flirtation

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written anything in a while, so wanted to do a few no-pressure ficlets and drabbles to get back into the mood.
> 
> Prompt Generator: Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Mature, Wingfic, Flowers
> 
> Generator [here](http://moonblossom.net/prompter/).

Mycroft glanced away from the skull when Mrs. Hudson entered the room with a tray, before turning his attention to the state of Sherlock’s fireplace. Everything appeared to be in order. The likelihood of Sherlock having squirreled away any illegal substances in its interior was a low probability. He’d tell John to check it later, just to be on the safe side. His brother did enjoy making Mycroft’s life difficult.

“I brought you some tea, dear.”

Mycroft heard the click of the tray as it touched down against the table. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Must everyone state the obvious?

“Oh, you’ve got something in your wing.”

Mycroft glanced over his shoulder at his black feathered wings, but of course if he’d been able to see whatever was attached to them, he’d have noticed it before now. He could only hope it hadn’t affected his negotiations earlier. Everyone got something stuck in or on their wings every once in a while, but like a bit of toothpaste on one’s face, it didn’t strike an imposing figure.

“Here, let me.”

“That’s quite all right, I’ll-” Mycroft’s voice cut off into a sharp intake of breath as fingers burrowed into his left wing, near his back. He flushed and bit his lip. To protest would reveal too much about his current state of…discomfort.

As if sensing his distress, Mrs. Hudson pressed her other hand along his wings, though surely she was oblivious to the affects her touch was having on Mycroft. If she knew- No. It was _Mrs. Hudson._ He shut down that train of thought. The idea was unthinkable.

The notion that his little brother’s landlady was attempting to be _intimate_ with Mycroft became less and less preposterous the longer her hands massaged his feathers. With golden wings of her own, it was impossible for her to not know what consequences such actions would bring about. She’d had a husband, after all.

Finally, Mycroft couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Mrs. Hudson.” He didn’t say any more, afraid his voice might crack if forced to form a full sentence.

“Got it!” 

A purple flower appeared in his peripheral vision as she held it up to him with her left hand. Her right remained resting on his wing. 

If he’d had the presence of mind to consider it, Mycroft would realize that having a flower in one’s wing for however long wasn’t as disastrous as, say, a piece of newspaper, but that hand was quite distracting and so he didn’t consider it. 

“Mrs. Hudson?” Mycroft asked, his tone shifting into...curiosity. Yes, just curiosity. Nothing…else.

“I may not be a genius, dear, but I was a dancer. I know when men are looking at me a certain way.”

Mycroft was grateful for his collar as he felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Forgive me, I wasn’t aware you noticed. I won’t-”

He was cut off again, a rare occurrence for the first, let alone the second time, as she pushed her fingers up underneath his feathers. This time her hand was right along the edge of where his wing met his back, and it had him reaching out towards the fireplace to steady himself.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s quite flattering, really. A woman of my age doesn’t get many admirers.”

No, Mycroft supposed not. An unfortunate truth of their society.

Mycroft gave himself a split second to decide before mentally nodding. “Perhaps we could take this to another room?” As amusing as it would be to see the look of horror on Sherlock’s face when he realized what they’d done in his living room, it wasn’t worth the price. Mycroft preferred that his younger brother _not_ be privy to his sexual encounters. 

“We’ll just leave this here for Sherlock.” She indicated the tea with a nod that Mycroft could just barely see when he turned his head. She curled her fingers into his wing so tightly the pleasure bordered on pain, and Mycroft’s other hand shot out to grip the mantle before his suddenly wobbly legs could make a fool of him. 

“Lead the way,” Mrs. Hudson said in a way that could only be interpreted as an order.

Upon retrospect, this woman was, perhaps, just a bit more than Mycroft could handle.


End file.
